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women.’
    ‘What was it this time? Robbery?’
    Gosse shook his head again, and said gravely, ‘I think we are dealing with something more serious than we first thought. Not a man killing whores but a madman – attacking anyone who comes his way.’ Gosse paused, yawned deeply. ‘And it was a full moon last night,’ he ended ominously.
    Faro remembered that the insane asylum had to put on extra guards each month when the moon was full; even the quieter docile inmates showed signs of aggression and some even turned wild and uncontrollable.
    ‘Victim is in the Infirmary and if he’s conscious there aresome questions. Hopefully he will have answers leading not only to this incident but to the women’s murders as well.’
     
    At the Infirmary an elderly man, white-haired and dishevelled, sat up in bed, his head bandaged, a dazed and frightened look in his eyes at the sight of two uniformed policemen standing at his bedside.
    ‘What am I doing here?’ he quavered. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong. Why have they brought me to this place? I want my own home.’
    Gosse said: ‘You are lucky to be alive. You were attacked last night at St Leonard’s.’
    ‘Was I? What was I doing there?’ The man seemed utterly bewildered, his senses lost. Gosse looked at Faro, tapped his head significantly, his helpless shrug indicating they weren’t going to get very far with this one.
    The man shut his eyes, his fingers pulling at the bedclothes, then swallowing he touched his neck, winced. ‘Throat’s sore. Can you tell me why I’m here?’ he wailed. ‘What happened?’ And before Gosse could explain, he sat up and shouted: ‘Oh, now I remember; I was walking home when a man came from behind, put his arm round my neck’ – he tried to demonstrate – ‘tried to strangle me – like this. We staggered a bit, but I used to be a prizefighter and I’ve still got a bit of strength – aye, and I remembered the dirty fights, the tender bits to aim for.’ A hoarse chuckle. ‘I kicked out, he yelled and let me go, I fell and I must have hit my head, ’cos I woke up here.’
    Gosse asked: ‘Can you describe him?’
    The old man frowned. ‘Tall as me, I think. But I can’t be sure, he was behind me.’ He shook his head. ‘When you find him, hope you’ll let me have a go at him first.’ And suddenly alert, his senses restored by indignation, clenching huge knuckles, he stuck out his chin, nodded vigorously. ‘Aye, I’ll soon show him what’s what.’
    Gosse said coldly that punishment was police business, not his, but the old man shook his head firmly. ‘Any man who hits me – that is my business. And now can I go home?’
    ‘Where’s home?’ Faro was taking notes while Gosse did all the questioning.
    ‘Liberton Brae. I was on my way home to see my daughter when it happened.’
    A nurse approached with a bundle of clothes. ‘You’re free to go home now, Mr Webb.’
    ‘Anything missing?’ the old man demanded. ‘I had two shillings in my pocket.’
    ‘There they are.’ And she shook out a handkerchief, two coins and a playing card.
    Faro picked it up. The nine of diamonds.
    Gosse seized it from him. ‘Where did you get this?’
    The man shrugged. ‘Never seen it before in my life.’
    ‘Are you sure?’ Gosse demanded suspiciously.
    ‘Course I’m sure,’ was the indignant reply. ‘I’m a temperance man since my wife died years ago. Never play cards, don’t approve of gambling, either. Wife was God-fearing. Always—’ he began.
    Gosse interrupted shortly: ‘If you remember anything about the man who attacked you—’
    ‘I’ll let you know, officer. I want to catch him too, youknow.’ Aware that the two policemen were edging away from the bed, and anxious not to lose his audience, he said: ‘Wait till I tell you about the time I was fighting in the ring, when I won cups, belts and things – it was in the newspapers—’
    Gosse wasn’t prepared to listen. Motioning to Faro, he shouted over his